


Things To Say

by Crescien, majesterm



Series: Middle Earth Short Stories [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9486740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescien/pseuds/Crescien, https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesterm/pseuds/majesterm
Summary: It's suppose to be mere business between the eleven prince and the weaponsmith... or not.





	

"Pippin! Get your muddy hands off the axes! I just polished those." The hobbit knew that when Shan gave that tone of voice, you should never question her demands.

"And I thought the guards outside the gates were harsh." Pippin muttered under his coat.

Quickly, Aragorn gave him a stern look; a look he always felt like he had to give the reckless hobbits these days.

"What?" Pippin shrugged, furrowing his ashy brows.

Merry let out a hardy laugh that echoed against the walls of the shop. "Oi, you know how Shan likes to keep the forge clean, Pip." He glanced back at the girl, occupied in carving the finishing touches of a long bow.

"Well that," Aragorn added. "And a certain little elf is coming over to pick up a new set of arrows," He finished, adding a hint of playfulness to his voice.

"Well that explains a ton actually." Pippin put an arm around Merry's shoulder. "She hasn't been out to the woods or picked up her bow once today."

Interrupting the trio's chatter, the shop bell rang.

"Well, Mr. Greenleaf!" Merry chimed. "How's our old friend doing?" The hobbit gave a warm grin while Pippin waved.

Legolas chuckled, nodding in the hobbit's direction. "Hello Merry. Greetings everyone."

His elven height did not play in his favour as he had to bend his head under the door's entrance. But luckily, inside the tiny shop, the ceilings were built high as all forms of life from across Middle Earth visited Shan's family forge.

Legolas especially liked coming here. Not only were the weapons forged here scrupulous and precise (which should be said that the Elves very much appreciated weapons provided here; the precision of the weapons were almost as good as elven made ones) but the little shop also gave a warm feel. The scent of oak and forged iron gave a sense of relaxation to him for an unexplainable reason. The shop was some ways away from Mirkwood, but he knew trips like these were worth the travel.

Besides, he knew she would always be standing there right behind that counter.

Shan beamed. "Good to see you again, Legolas."

Legolas loved seeing the corners of her lips quirk up like that. He almost forgot he was still standing (probably gawking) right in front of Shan.

What they had both not realized was that they had been standing in silence for over a minute, just letting each others' company set in.

Legolas quickly nodded and continued. He was here for weapons. Arrows. Mere business. "So-" 

Shan gave the elf a puzzled look before she remembered. "Oh. Oh right! Hold on." Her head suddenly disappeared under the counter for a brief moment. He tried to hold his small smile in, as he thought it would have been rude to laugh during mere business.

She came back up holding various arrows, all carved and defined. "Just the ones that you've asked for. They're bigger than your average arrow." Shan took one in her hand and ran her finger on the flechings. "But they offer a thicker shaft that is designed to withstand the greater draw of an average siege or war bow."

The elven prince had not been listening to a word she had been saying. Something about the way she could speak made everything so fascinating. The interest she took in her work and knowledge was somewhat attractive in his mind but he didn't actually know how to describe the odd quirk.

He would come into the shop almost religiously and not once did the elven prince find the guts or drop his prestige to tell Shan that he loved her. He would wait for the right moment until it felt appropriate, but it would never come.

He was a prince. A warrior. The son of a luminary leader. But the odd sensation that she gave him whenever her fingers would dance across the table top or when her lips moved made him feel like he was spineless and feeble. How could someone like himself tell a girl that she made him feel powerless?


End file.
